Reunited
by Phoenixburning16
Summary: AU. Romeo and Juliet in modern times. The two young lovers are given a second chance. . . or are they? I apologize for the weird format-- if anyone can help me with it, please do! Please read and review!


  
  


Romeo and Juliet

  
  


Prologue

  
  
  
  


"Just look at him, Tybalt. He's miserable and he doesn't even know why. He used to love

  
  


parties and fun and girls. Now. . . he doesn't even get drunk anymore."

" Damn, Mercutio. Getting drunk isn't always a good thing. And it's his own fault for 

  
  


being such an immature lowlife. He was the one who left my cousin.

"He was only seventeen, just a kid. I wouldn't blame him for not wanting to commit. He 

  
  


wanted to travel and explore before settling down."

" Yeah, and apparently that was an excuse to get away. He didn't love her. He never did. 

  
  


He was weak and couldn't hang; he listened to his body instead of his heart. She doesn't believe 

  
  


in love anymore. He's gone and forgotten her completely. Damn you Montagues!"

" Shut up, Tybalt. Get over it. I'm dead, you're dead, we're equal as far as I can see. And 

  
  


Romeo's suffering. You should be happy. I've looked into his heart, you know. He's missing 

  
  


her. He's brushed her from his mind because he's afraid He doesn't remember her because she 

  
  


taught him to love and he feels like failed. He needs love. Why do you think he spent so much 

  
  


time in Venice? It's the city of love, of marriage. Hell, at least his heart knows it if he's too blind 

  
  


to see it with his own eyes. What's your cousin up to these days?

  
  


" She's working in New York City in some coffee shop. Did you know she wrote Romeo 

  
  


at least eight times after he left? He never answered. She even sent him a ring. Poor girl.

  
  


" He got them though. They're lying forgotten in the corner of his dresser drawer, the one 

  
  


he never opens because it's broken. The ring's probably in there too."

  
  


" How can you love him, Mercutio? He let you drive, and you were underage. He's alive 

  
  


and you're here, stuck with me for all eternity. Doesn't it just eat you alive?

  
  


" The guilt's eating him alive, Tybalt; I intend to do something about that. It wasn't his 

  
  


fault. I want him to be happy, if I can. He deserves a second chance. As for being stuck with you, 

  
  


there's nothing I can do about that."

********************

  
  
  
  


I was dreaming of Venice. It was night, and the reflected glow of the street lamps 

  
  


transformed the canals into shimmering straits of light. I was standing in my luxurious hotel 

  
  


room, gazing out the window with my neck craned skywards. The stars were tiny pinpricks in the 

  
  


heavens and they were singing. As I watched, they began to blur and I was lost in their music, 

  
  


their songs of romance and fantasies; it filled my head with sweet murmurings. Then I heard the 

  
  


other sounds. They filtered into my thoughts thickly at first, then clear and razor-sharp and 

  
  


terrible. It was the shrill screech of brakes, the shattering of glass, and the deafening sound of 

  
  


silence. Alarms began to sound and ring in the distance, and suddenly they were blaring in my 

  
  


head, pounding in my brain and I opened my mouth to scream.

  
  


BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BL- *

I jolted out of sleep and fumbled for the alarm clock. My hand flailed wildly about and 

  
  


knocked several things off the night stand, including the damn clock. I heard it bounce once on 

  
  


the carpet and die in mid-BLEEP. I sat up, my heart racing furiously, and I didn't know where I 

  
  


was. Was that a dream? Am I alive? Where the hell am I? I looked around frantically; my pulse 

  
  


slowed when I recognized the familiar dark shapes of my room. I relaxed, feeling sleepy and 

  
  


burrowed into the blankets, curled up into a ball, shut my eyes tight . . . and opened them again. 

  
  


I like my room dark when I sleep, dark enough that the difference between my room and the 

  
  


backs of my eyelids is the red winking display of the alarm clock. The curtains were drawn to 

  
  


create artificial night, but sunlight was pouring in through a gap, shining right into my eyes. 

  
  


Growling, I threw the covers off and stumbled into the bathroom.

  
  


The face that greeted me in the mirror was thin and rugged. I hadn't shaved since 

  
  


Monday and my reflection was rather stubbly. There were light shadows under the eyes and the 

  
  


dark brown hair was untidy and flattened from sleeping on my side all night. I sighed, splashed 

  
  


cold water onto my face and staggered off back to the bedroom. I tripped over the alarm clock 

  
  


on the ground; it was nine. Time for a morning smoke. I opened the curtains and stepped out 

  
  


onto the balcony. The sky was hazy and blue and hot. One could almost see the heat waves 

  
  


shimmer in the air. I went for my pack of cigarettes, but they weren't in my pocket. I went back 

  
  


into the apartment and checked the pockets of my jeans, but I found nothing. The floor was 

  
  


cluttered with junk, including my keys, wallet, sunglasses, and watch. Close but no damn cigar. 

  
  


Where were those #@!$&*^ cigarettes!?

  
  


[Look behind your night stand, you dumb-ass.] A hollow disembodied voice crept into 

  
  


my thoughts and I jumped with surprise, but I knew who it was without looking up. A young 

  
  


man was lying on my unmade bed, hands cupped behind his head. His eyes were closed and he 

  
  


was humming dreamily. In the darkness behind the night stand I discovered my missing smokes. 

  
  


I glared at him and he grinned. I snatched them up and stormed out to the balcony to light up, 

  
  


slamming the glass door behind me. He sprung off the bed like a cat and slipped after me, not 

  
  


even pausing to open the door. 

  
  


I was leaning against the rail staring up at the sky. Mercutio stood a couple of feet away 

  
  


and watched me with unblinking grey eyes; I squirmed under his gaze. He was dressed entirely 

  
  


in black, except for his belt buckle which was silver and engraved with the letter M. I returned 

  
  


his scrutiny, taking slow drags on my cigarette. With his black hair, silvery eyes and classic good 

  
  


looks, he was pretty much the same Mercutio I remembered. An wild, immature sixteen-year-

  
  


old. Death had mellowed and matured him only a bit. In the ten years since the crash, his injuries 

  
  


had faded to nothing. The scar on my back and my guilt had not.

  
  


"So how have you been doing? It's been a while. . . thanks for giving me a warning this 

  
  


time." The last time Mercutio had visited, he'd scared the hell out of me; it was night and he 

  
  


grabbed me. I freaked out because all I saw was a pale hand attached to my arm.

  
  


[ I've been good. Yesterday I saw the hottest girl but she didn't so much as look at me. 

  
  


That hurt. But I've been reading old Superman comics, and I still say he can kick Batman's ass. 

  
  


I'm hungry! What you got to eat?] I laughed. Mercutio was always hungry, especially for cherry 

  
  


slushies and hot dogs. Food had been his weak spot. . . but then, so had alcohol, drugs, and girls.

  
  


"It's not like you can eat anything anyway. You wouldn't even be able to hold food in 

  
  


your hands," I told him.

  
  


[I know. Damn.]

  
  


We stood there for a while, gazing past the skyscrapers to the World Trade Towers in the 

  
  


distance. The sun was warming up now; though it was early, little beads of sweat were forming 

  
  


on the back of my neck. My cigarette was almost gone and I considered lighting up again, but 

  
  


resisted. My mother always told me that cigarettes were unhealthy and addicting, and I believed 

  
  


her. Yawning, I took a last puff, tossed the butt over the balcony rail, and went back inside. 

  
  


Mercutio drifted after me and plopped down onto my bed again. It was nine-thirty and I had a 

  
  


job to get to. I reached through him and began to put the blankets in order and fluff the pillows.

[Stop that. You know I hate it when you do that. It feels like someone's knocked the 

  
  


wind out of my lungs] he whined.

  
  


"Yeah, it feels real nice to me too. Like I just plunged my hands into a bucket of ice 

  
  


water. If you don't like it, move your lazy butt." He got up and looked around my room. It 

  
  


wasn't too bad for the apartment of a young single 27-year-old man. Messy, but not disgustingly 

  
  


so. There were some clothes scattered around; two of my dresser drawers were broken and 

  
  


unable to open. There was a writing desk, a CD player, a bed, and a night stand, but that was 

  
  


about all. Mercutio walked into my sitting room and I heard a soft whoosh. He had jumped onto 

  
  


my huge beanbag; it was originally blue but now swathed in duct tape and sporting a dull shade 

  
  


of silver. The TV clicked on, a laugh track sounded, and he was off, giggling hysterically. I 

  
  


shook my head, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed my wallet and house key and headed for 

  
  


the door.

  
  


Mercutio suddenly appeared and wordlessly handed me a silver ring. It had small snakes 

  
  


engraved into the metal, ornamented with eyes of emerald or some other green stone. It looked 

  
  


vaguely familiar, but the memory it sparked was too foggy to see.

  
  


"Where'd you find this?" I asked him. He was standing with his hands rammed in his 

  
  


pockets and looking slightly shifty.

  
  


[Um. . it was under the bed. I saw it when you were looking for your cigarettes. I thought 

  
  


you might like to have it.] He smiled and inspected his fingernails with great interest.

  
  


I held the ring in my palm. Its weight was comfortable and strangely appropriate. I 

  
  


slipped it on my finger and turned to Mercutio.

  
  


"Thanks. I've got to get to work now. You gonna come or stay here?"

  
  


[ I think I'll chill here for now. . . you got a Nintendo? Just kidding. I'll probably just 

  
  


watch television. I hear "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" is on. Have fun.] He disappeared 

  
  


and I heard a soft whoosh again. I left. I was a bike messenger on the streets of New York, and 

  
  


now late for work

  
  
  
  


********************

  
  
  
  


"One double latte, extra milk, heavy cream, no cinnamon!" Juliet scrambled to fill the 

  
  


order, mentally checking off what needed to be done. She turned this way and that, monitoring 

  
  


the coffee machines, adding the milk and other ingredients, and narrowly missing being knocked 

  
  


over by a worker as busy as herself. She set the cup on the counter and awaited the next order. 

  
  


The Coffey Shoppe was tucked into a row of buildings on Escalus Boulevard. It was 

  
  


quaint and small, painted pleasing tones of periwinkle and white. A large plate glass window 

  
  


filled the front wall and offered a view of Central Park. Juliet liked working here; the store was 

  
  


always a whirlwind of activity. The air always smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, chocolate and 

  
  


coffee, incense and pastry. On slow days she would sit behind the counter on a tall blue-velvet 

  
  


stool and watch the musicians and striving artists, the students and businessmen and bohemians. 

  
  


Everybody was so relaxed and carefree; it was calming to just sit among such people and absorb 

  
  


their spirit. Being able to satisfy her caffeine cravings was just a bonus.

  
  


Juliet loved New York. She had moved here when she was seventeen and had met with 

  
  


trouble early in her life, but after ten years, her heart was mending.

  
  


Juliet glanced out the window. The temperature was still muggy, but clouds were 

  
  


beginning to gather on the horizon. There would probably be a light summer shower later in the 

  
  


day. She sighed and got back to work.

  
  


********************

  
  
  
  


A dog was chasing me, a damn dog with long white teeth. And he was catching up! My 

  
  


legs were pounding furiously and luckily there were no letters threatening to spill out of the bag. 

  
  


I knew the streets of New York well and took a couple of sharp turns and looped around; I could 

  
  


hear the dog barking behind me, but it was fading into the distance. I slowed my pace and 

  
  


relaxed. This was the life for me! I loved being free and out in the open, being able to go 

  
  


wherever I wanted and meeting all sorts of people. I had just delivered my last package and was 

  
  


free for the day. It was seven but still pretty light out and starting to drizzle lightly. As the bike 

  
  


skidded to a stop at a red light, I felt an unfamiliar pressure on my hand as I squeezed the brakes. 

  
  


I looked down at my finger and saw the ring. Funny, I hadn't felt it or noticed it that much before 

  
  


now. I brushed the thought away and meandered through the streets, watching families walk 

  
  


towards Central Park and thinking.

  
  


I rode up Stratford Avenue and locked up my bicycle in the garage of Greenwich 

  
  


Apartments. My apartment was up two flights of stairs and I climbed them quickly. When I 

  
  


stepped into my apartment, music was blaring from the radio. In my head, a voice was singing 

  
  


loudly and terribly off-key and it wasn't mine..

  
  


[I said do you speak-a my language? He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich! 

  
  


And he said, I come from a land down under where beer does flow and men chunder, can't you 

  
  


hear, can't you hear the thunder? You better run, you better take cover !!] Mercutio was lying on 

  
  


my bed and listening to 80s music.

  
  


"Shut up!" I yelled. "You could never carry a tune when you were alive, you sure as hell 

  
  


can't now that you're dead." He looked at me with accusing eyes and levitated till he was floating about six inches above the mattress.

  
  


[ I'm thirsty. Let's go get some espressos. I wanna get out of this apartment.] He stood up 

  
  


and turned off the radio.

  
  


" Okay, okay. Even though you can't even drink coffee and I don't know any shops that 

  
  


make a decent espresso." 

  
  


[There's a store called The Coffey Shoppe over near Central Park. I heard it was really 

  
  


good. Let's go try it. It's not that far away. You can ride your bike.]

  
  


"Yeah, sure," I grumbled, suddenly feeling grumpy at the prospect of going out in the 

  
  


rain even though I didn't care two minutes before. 

  
  


I found myself riding my bike through New York yet again, with Mercutio gliding next to 

  
  


me. The street was full of cars, and he grimaced each time they passed through him. It was kind 

  
  


of neat, watching the front end of a car emerge from his stomach. I turned onto Escalus 

  
  


Boulevard and Mercutio pointed out the coffee shop. It was small and cozy, painted tasteful 

  
  


shades of light blue and white. We walked in and I looked around. It was pleasant enough, with a 

  
  


large window and round wooden tables. Many people were seated around the tables, chattering 

  
  


lightly and laughing. I perused the coffee menu while Mercutio floated high above my head. 

  
  


The ceiling was made of looking-glass and everything below was reflected from a birds-eye 

  
  


perspective. It was actually pretty fascinating, but he was staring up at it with annoyance.

  
  


[Hey Romeo, is my hair all right? I mean, it's not messed up or anything from those 

  
  


damn cars? I can't even see my own reflection!!]

  
  


I ignored him and stepped up to the counter to order. The girl behind the counter was 

  
  


busy fixing an order, but it was soon my turn. She turned around and I got a good look at her for 

  
  


the first time. She was about five inches shorter than me and slender, with dark brown hair cut to her shoulders. Her eyes were green and she wore little makeup besides lip gloss. She wore jeans 

  
  


and a shirt with a blue apron proudly proclaiming "The Coffey Shoppe" in white letters. Silver 

  
  


hoops were in her ears and on her finger was a unusual ring in the shape of a serpent. It was 

  
  


curled around her finger with its tail in its mouth. I must have been staring at her because she 

  
  


looked at me rather impatiently.

  
  


"Can I take your order?" she asked me. Her nails drummed nervously on the counter and 

  
  


were painted bright green.

  
  


Where had I seen her before?! She looked so familiar, but I couldn't place her in my 

  
  


memory. She looked like. . . no, but it couldn't be. Juliet had brown eyes, not green. And this 

  
  


woman looked so tired for being so young. She looked at me again and I decided I'd better order 

  
  


something. Anything. 

  
  


" Sorry. . . yeah, may I have an espresso, extra dark with cream and cinnamon?" She 

  
  


turned and began making my order. I felt Mercutio watching me, but he remained silent. I 

  
  


fidgeted and ran my fingers through my hair. She finished and entered the price. I reached out to 

  
  


get the coffee.

  
  


"That will be. . ." She stopped in mid-sentence. She was staring at my hand that was 

  
  


wrapped around the cup; at the ring in particular. Her green eyes rose to meet my brown ones, 

  
  


and we knew. I felt a surge of hope rise up in my chest and the same time a voice in my head 

  
  


whispered [Oh, shit.] It was my own voice for once, not Mercutio's.

  
  


"Romeo?"

  
  


"Hi, Juliet. . . how are you?"

  
  


"I get off work in about ten minutes. Can I talk to you then?"

  
  


"Sure. I'll wait for you outside."

I turned and left with my cup of coffee. I managed to get through the door without 

  
  


humiliating myself and began to walk down the sidewalk, leaving my bike where it was, 

  
  


drinking my espresso and scorching my tongue. My hands were shaking slightly and I was dizzy 

  
  


from thinking so hard. Rain was falling lightly ,but it was slowing.

  
  


[Where do you think you're going?] I jumped; I'd almost forgotten about Mercutio. He 

  
  


was walking beside me, cool and collected. I was a nervous wreck.

  
  


"Oh my God, did you see her? It was Juliet, Mercutio, it was really her! I never thought 

  
  


I'd see her again and here she was in New York all this time. I've got to sit down." I was 

  
  


babbling madly, not quite sure of what I was saying. We went to the park and I sat down on a 

  
  


bench.

  
  


" Mercutio, I love her. I really do. I was stupid and young and naive and foolish and I 

  
  


didn't know enough of love and I didn't mean to hurt her and what if she blames me for 

  
  


everything and I fee all guilty and-"

  
  


[Romeo, shut up. It'll be all right. Just take your time and explain to her what you feel. 

  
  


She'll understand.] It actually made sense. The rain had stopped.

  
  


We walked back to The Coffey Shoppe and I was waiting when Juliet came out. She 

  
  


looked at me and I followed her across the street to the park. We sat down on a bench and no 

  
  


one spoke. She broke the silence first.

  
  


"What have you been up to since you left home?"

  
  


" I went to Europe for a year, saw the sights. France, Italy, Greece. Then I moved here 

  
  


and started up again."

  
  


" I moved to New York when I was seventeen and studied medicine at UNY. . ."

  
  


" Juliet, I'm really sorry about all this. I was young. . . we both were. We got married for the wrong reasons, and the strain was too great for me. I know I was weak, I was stupid, and I 

  
  


just couldn't hang. I've been all over Europe, I've done so many things, and seen so many sights, 

  
  


but I realize I never was really happy without you. . . ." I can't believe I said that! That was so 

  
  


cheesy. Arrgh. 

" I'm not going to say you didn't hurt me. You did. A lot.. I loved you. I thought we were 

  
  


going to live happily ever after like in the fairy tales. I was wrong.. When you left, I thought it 

  
  


was because I wasn't good enough. I thought that every love I had would end this way, in 

  
  


devastation. And in that way, I was stupid and too young and not ready. But it was my first 

  
  


relationship, and I bounced back . I loved you and I'd like to think I love you still. Just give me 

  
  


time."

  
  


"Can you tell me in all honesty if there is any hope for us? For a relationship to work 

  
  


out?" Juliet gathered her things and rose . She smiled at me, but there was no laughter in her 

  
  


eyes.

  
  


"Anything's possible, Romeo." I listened to her shoes clatter as she crossed the street and 

  
  


got into her car. She drove away, and I finally stood up. I turned the ring on my finger and stared 

  
  


into space.

  
  


[So. . . . . ?!] Mercutio popped up next to me. He was grinning madly and his eyes were 

  
  


twinkling. [How did it go? Huh? What did she say?]

  
  


"There's hope yet for us. She needs time. I just pray time is on my side." We rode back to 

  
  


the apartment in silence. I unlocked the door and let myself in. Mercutio was already inside.

  
  


[ I'm going to leave now. I'm tired. I'll see you later.] He walked out to the balcony with 

  
  


his hands in his pockets. 

  
  


"Wait. I want to thank you for giving me the ring. I know what you were doing. At least 

now Juliet knows I exist. She can forgive me. I can't tell you how relieved I am. Thank you."

  
  


[ If Juliet can forgive you, you can forgive yourself and be unburdened of guilt. I know 

  
  


you think that it was your fault for the car crash. You were drunk and you let me drive while you 

  
  


slept in the back because you thought I was sober. The thing is, I was drunk too. I thought I 

  
  


could handle it, but I lost control. And now I'm making up for my mistakes.] Mercutio was 

  
  


standing on the balcony. The night sky was dark and with his black clothes and pale skin, he 

  
  


looked more ghostly than I've ever remembered seeing him. He disappeared with a muffled pop.

  
  
  
  
  
  


********************

  
  
  
  


Epilogue

  
  


"So, is everything good with Romeo? Did Juliet take him back?"

  
  


"She needs time, but I think the outcome looks good. I'm starving!"

  
  


" You know we can't eat anything anyway."

  
  


" I know. Damn."


End file.
